


Uninvited

by AvaChanel



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaChanel/pseuds/AvaChanel
Summary: The Witcher Modern AU. Rumor has it, there's a witch who lives in apartment 4A. Not that Geralt has ever cared about silly superstitions his entire life. But when a mysterious black cat begins making unwanted visits to his apartment, Geralt starts to wonder if there's any truth to the stories he's heard about this beautiful, mystical woman who has just moved into his apartment complex.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 115





	Uninvited

The cat sitting on Geralt’s windowsill was black. Only its wide, slivered eyes — a very vibrant shade of yellow-green — stood out amongst the shadow of its fur. The creature was like an affront. Something that did not belong, and it caught Geralt off guard the moment he’d seen its twitching tail slap against his cushions. The unassuming cat sat on its haunches and was currently bathing itself. Licking its front paw and using it to then rub the top of its head and ears, as if Geralt didn’t exist whatsoever. With a heavy sigh, the tall, burly man dropped his bags of groceries onto the floor of his apartment before making his way towards the cat. Heavy footfalls against the tiled wood of his home didn’t seem to deter the animal nor frighten it. It paused instead to stare up at the intimidating intruder in silent judgement as he approached.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the small, lithe black cat, dead-locked into its hypnotizing gaze. It flicked its tail.

“Black cats,” he started with a groan, “are an _ill_ omen.”

The cat blinked. Swished its tail again. And then meowed softly, revealing a row of tiny, sharp teeth and a healthy, pink, scaly tongue. “That’s not going to work on me,” Geralt stated with a cluck of his tongue and slow shake of his head. He sounded exasperated. “We’ve been through this. Many, many... _many_ times.”

The cat began to purr then, a low rumbling in its throat, moving forward on the cushion to rub its fuzzy, soft cheek against his hand. This only served to infuriate Geralt _more_. A cool, summer draft blew in from the open window where the cat had snuck in, making the curtains dance softly in a rippling shade of cream.

In one fluid motion, Geralt then picked up the small cat from under its front paws, his hands big enough to encircle its entire body, and carried it that way without any protest, being sure to keep it a good distance from his face — his nose already tingling and itchy with an unborn sneeze. “Lucky for you, I’m not the superstitious kind,” he mouthed, heading for the exit to his apartment. “But I _am_ allergic.” Geralt wrinkled his features in disdain.

The little devious critter had started making impromptu visits to Geralt's apartment just a little over a month ago. Initially, he'd thought that maybe, the cat had been hungry and wanted to feast on his pet hamster, Roach, who was easily spotted running on her wheel in her cage from the window, but the predator seemed entirely uninterested in the rodent and left Roach well enough alone.

Under normal circumstances, Geralt would have used a broom to usher the cat out towards the fire escape whence it came, and shut the window after it, as he'd done time and time again. But the apartment always grew stuffy, and he'd be forced to open the window a crack, and as if by magic, the cat would show up again if he'd dare leave his living room unattended for long periods of time. One moment, Geralt would be drying off his hair and walking into his kitchen wearing just a towel around his waist, and the next he'd find the black cat sitting on the arm of his couch, observing him with those keen eyes expectantly.

He wouldn’t have cared too much, but the cat had a habit of leaving bits of its fur — and respectively, _dander_ — all over his sofa pillows and cushions, which in turn made Geralt’s allergies flare up ridiculously. The bags under his eyes would grow puffy and itch, turning red, the tip of his nose to match, while he sniffed and sneezed all over his apartment until he was just about ready to tear off his own face in order to experience some relief. It got to the point that he’d invested in some antihistamines, and Geralt wasn’t one who cared for taking any medicine — mostly because he rarely, if ever, got sick.

But the cat was infernal. And downright persistent. There were only two allergy pills left in his cabinet by now, a whole lot of fur and dander to remove from his cushions — a tedious process in itself — and not much patience from Geralt. Antihistamines were also fairly expensive. So, in the spur of the moment, he had finally decided to confront the cat’s wily owner, perhaps exchanging a few strong words about maybe keeping a better eye on the irksome furball.

Given that the animal had only turned up recently, Geralt already had an idea of whom it belonged to — there’d been a moving truck parked illegally outside the building complex about a week before the cat had made its first visit to his apartment. And besides that, he’d also noted some excited chatter and gossip among his neighbors in regards to the rumoured _witch_ that had moved into apartment 4A.

Not that Geralt himself ever partook in any of those conversations; he was just good at being silent and observant, with a pretty reliable memory in regards to recalling inconsequential details. A skill his father, Vesemir, had often taken advantage of while he’d been growing up.

After coming home late from work one evening, and fussing with his keys outside his door for a bit, he’d overheard someone down the corridor saying that the woman they speculated to be a practicing witch happened to own a black cat, using it as further evidence that there was something... _off_ about their newest neighbor. All this was said rather hush hush, of course, especially while Geralt was in the hallway, but he’d heard the two less-than-subtle gossip-mongers discussing it anyways. The tall, fair-haired man was too tired to truly care back then. Besides, he knew that his neighbors also referred to him as an _albino_ behind his back, among more unpleasant descriptors, what with his off-white hair, pale skin, and striking amber eyes. Thus, it was almost a blessing in disguise to Geralt that the new tenant had briefly distracted them from gossiping about _him_. 

On the other hand, just because the woman renting apartment 4A happened to own a black cat, lived alone, and kept to herself, didn't immediately quantify her to be a member of Wicca. 

Yet again, Geralt was grateful that he’d never been the superstitious type, and rather calmly made his way down the flights of stairs to the fourth floor, still clutching the cat like he was summoning an offering. If the critter was unhappy with the way it was being carried, it made no motion of it. The cat just hung limply in Geralt’s embrace, as if its body was made of liquid. He hated to admit it, but...its shiny coat was definitely soft beneath his fingertips.

When he was finally standing outside the woman’s door, he maneuvered the cat to one strong hand, steeled his expression, and gave two single, sturdy knocks against the door of apartment 4A. The cat then yowled in soft protest, its voice smooth and high-pitched, and its lithe body wriggling suddenly in Geralt’s grasp.

“Just a moment!” came a shout from behind the door, and the cat took it as an ample opportunity to dig its claws into Geralt’s wrist.

Geralt grunted and winced, clenching his jaw and trying not to retaliate by strangling the cat, just as the door flew open and revealed the mysterious woman everyone couldn’t shut up about.

There were approximately only _two_ coherent thoughts that had managed to stay focused in Geralt’s mind when he laid eyes on the cat’s owner, while still in excruciating pain.

One, that — judging by her appearance — she could certainly be an _actual_ witch, after all.

And two, that he’d likely be under her spell in a moment if he wasn’t already, and that he probably wouldn’t even _mind_.

“I….uh….” Geralt stammered, feeling tongue-tied and suddenly really warm beneath the collar of his shirt. The cat was still fussing, scrambling even more in his clutches and definitely covering his hand in a wide variety of scratches, but Geralt didn’t seem to notice.

The breathtaking woman before him looked like she’d likely walked off a magazine cover, the ones that advertised fancy lofts or overly expensive furniture, and equally unattainable. Her long black hair, curled in loose ringlets just past her shoulders, still looked perfectly disheveled and tousled. It framed her tanned face, which was covered in just enough makeup to glow naturally, and her striking, violet eyes were made even more alluring by the long fringe of lashes and dark, thick brows.

And then there were her _lips_ …

And her _hips_. Because she’d answered her door in nothing but a loose-fitting shirt and her silken underwear. The jersey shirt, Geralt gratefully noticed, was not long enough to cover much of her bottom half...And so, he got to feast his eyes on the shapely sight of her long, brown, slender legs.

The woman — who must have been a good head shorter than him — sized him up as if she knew _exactly_ what he was thinking, a flicker of amusement in her amethyst gaze, and the corners of her lips curving into a tiny, ghost of a smile.

Geralt cleared his throat then and tried not to think distracting thoughts. “Your cat.” He extended the fidgeting animal towards her, who then bit the inside of Geralt’s hand and forced him to let go with an embarrassing hiss and yelp of pain. The cat landed on all fours, rather graciously.

“Jaskier! Be nice to our neighbors!” she called after it, but her pet had already shaken off the human touch from its body and then disappeared beyond the door, bounding back inside her apartment, right past its pretty owner's bare, manicured feet.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay? Here, come inside and let me patch that up for you. He’s a moody cat, but he’s usually quite fond of people,” she explained, reaching out to examine Geralt’s scratched up hand with a note of concern.

He ought to have said no, but really, she didn’t leave him much room to protest, and truth be told, he'd likely have gone home to suffer his wounds silently. By the time Geralt had even remembered how his feet and tongue worked, she was already dragging him inside her foretold macabre apartment.

“Sit at the kitchen table, I’ll just go grab a few of my supplies,” she instructed rather firmly.

Geralt opened his mouth but she’d already pushed him down into the chair by the shoulders and had disappeared down the hallway.

Not knowing what else to do but sit there and wait for her, and feeling like leaving would be both improper and rude, he took the opportunity to study his surroundings instead, looking for any obvious signs or hints that he'd unwittingly wandered into some kind of trap. 

Unfortunately, what he found instead was rather horribly ordinary. It was very clear that she’d only just moved in. Boxes were still stacked in corners, waiting to be unpacked, labelled KITCHEN ETC, and there were cleaning supplies left out on the counter. One of Geralt’s silvery brows shot up at a particularly large box labelled UNICORN. He made a mental note of it and filed it away for later, to bring up to his beautiful hostess sometime in the future. A tiny, silver food dish filled with picked-at brown pellets sat on a plastic tray on the floor nearby, with a matching dish full of water. The cat’s domain, no doubt.

In terms of decor, the woman lived rather...simply. Nothing really indicated that she was a witch, and Geralt almost kicked himself for even expecting it. Like her apartment ought to have been full of cobwebs, questionable jarred or pickled animal parts, and ancient-looking books. Maybe even a _skull_ for good measure. He could have laughed at himself for being so foolish. 

Jaskier — the odd name for her equally odd cat — then came strolling into the kitchen languidly, not paying any attention to Geralt whatsoever as he meandered towards his food bowl. Geralt scowled at him — he wouldn’t be in this predicament if not for the unruly furball. Then again, he’d likely never have met the pretty little witch if not for him, either. “You win this time,” he muttered in defeat, easing back into his chair and tapping his knuckles against the wood of the dining table. The cat drank from his water bowl and continued to ignore Geralt.

The cuts on his wrist were beginning to sting and swell up — his body reacting to some sort of allergen. Thankfully, his hostess had returned in the nick of time, carrying a bunch of packaged supplies in her arms and, Geralt noticed, still not wearing any pants. She dumped the contents onto the table and sat across from him before getting to work.

“You’re allergic," she noted mildly after inspecting the hives forming around the cuts. “Jaskier’s made short work of you, I’m afraid. He doesn’t like being... _manhandled_ as much as others do.”

Geralt swore she winked at him coquettishly when she said this.

“Not many animals do,” he replied, unable to hide his smirk.

She returned the smile — as beautiful and uplifting as he’d envisioned it to be — and, in between applying some sort of cool, greenish liquid to his wounds, she added, “My name’s Yennefer. Yennefer Vengerberg.”

“Geralt Rivia.”

Their eyes locked briefly — purple and gold. Fire and ice. 

If he wasn’t careful, he didn’t think he’d remember to _breathe_ , it was too easy to get lost in the storm of her irises. She looked away first, becoming somewhat bashful from the intensity of his gaze, and Yennefer tucked a stray curl behind her ear with her free hand. It was a very pretty name, and he could see himself playing with it on his tongue. 

She was still dressing his wounds when she asked, “So, Geralt...how did you come across my cat, anyways? Was he going through the garbage again? He likes chicken bones in particular.”

Geralt tried to count to three in his head, tried to ignore the way his chest tightened whenever she said his name, or the way a lock of her flowy hair fell forward and tickled his forearm, not to mention her _scent_. Heavenly sweet, like wildflowers in a summer field, and equally intoxicating. Yennefer’s fingertips were cold to the touch, her dark polished nails sharp, but every caress was tender, and Geralt couldn’t help thinking about making love to her on that very table, with her stupid cat watching the entire exchange.

A bad idea in hindsight, really. The legs of her rustic table didn't look nearly sturdy enough.

"Your cat makes unwarranted visits to my apartment," Geralt then answered dryly, drumming the fingers of his free hand along the thick muscle of his thigh.

"Oh? Has Jaskier been naughty, sneaking into our neighbors apartments?" She cast a sidelong look at the devious cat who was now busy eating loudly from his food bowl. Then, she sighed. "No wonder they all think I'm a witch."

Yennefer continued to busy herself with dressing the bite wound using some gauze dipped in an antiseptic. Already, the swelling was going down, as if by magic. Geralt watched her rather precariously.

"What?" she asked with a smile, not looking up from her handiwork but obviously feeling the way his intense gaze bored into her. "You think I don't know what it is they think about me?"

Geralt breathed through his nose. "They say your cat was once a man, an ex-lover who vexed you, so you turned him into your pet."

"Oh, do go on. Tell me what else it is they say,” she teased. “No one ever has the courage to speak these accusations to my face, you see. I’m curious.”

He wasn't entirely sure if she meant that she was curious about the subject, or curious about a man who could say these things to her without any fear. He didn't have the luxury of time to dwell on it, though, and decided to indulge her anyways. 

Geralt continued rather monotonously. "They also claim that on the day you moved in, your neighbor across the hall yelled at you for blocking the stairway with your furniture, and the next morning, she happened to take a nasty tumble and broke her hip going down those same stairs."

Yennefer's amused smile only grew wider, more mischievous even. "Yes, I do remember that. Poor thing had to be rushed to the hospital." There was no genuine sympathy in her voice, however.

“You’re also a hermit. With no known lover.”

She raised her eyes at that, fingers pausing in their laborious efforts. “Are you asking me if I’m single, Geralt?”

Surprisingly, he managed not to flinch at her forwardness. “Are you?”

Yennefer smiled at him again and the view made his heart skip a beat. Was it going to be like this every time with her? Not that he’d dare admit to the affect she had on him out loud. He’d only just _met_ the woman, after all.

“Perhaps," she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. "Although I fail to see how my love life affects my _witchly_ duties.”

“It doesn’t, but I could help quell some of those rumours, at least, if you took a lover.”

“Or, we could _both_ help give them something to really talk about,” she added rather deviously, biting down on her bottom lip as her eyes swept down his firm torso.

Geralt stared at her as she uncrossed her long, shapely legs. Crossed them again, slowly, making sure he could see the slit of her panties from where he was sitting. His throat went dry. Women had hit on him plenty of times before, and he’d always been pretty good at knowing when to make a move. With Yennefer Vengerberg though, he didn’t want to rush in and risk ruining things. Something about her made him both cautious, and extremely horny at the same time. The emotions were rather conflicting. Like a moth flirting with fire.

Narrowing his eyes, Geralt then said, “I do believe I owe you a favor for dressing my wounds, even if it was your cat that was responsible.”

Yennefer had finally finished her work, Geralt’s hand sufficiently bandaged and significantly less itchy and burning. Her knee brushed his, and he could have sworn the touch was intentional. “A favor?" she asked, eyebrows shooting up in feigned curiosity. "I could think of several, lest you risk becoming my next indentured man, like Jaskier over here. Although one could argue he leads quite a royal life, being fed and housed for free. Not to mention, his pick of all the female strays he can find, with the luxury of enjoying the company of my lap every so often.”

She was _joking_. She had to be, because witches were not real, and neither was magic. But the way she spoke almost made it seem like she _believed_ it herself. And briefly, Geralt had to wonder…

“Lucky cat,” he replied. “The offer is tempting, I’ll admit, but I’d much rather _please_ you as a man than an animal.”

“Mmm, and you are rather pleasing, aren’t you?”

The room felt like it had gotten twenty degrees hotter, and Yennefer’s lips were suddenly a lot closer than he remembered. A lot riper, lush, sensuous, and inviting. Her lashes were so long and thick, he could count each individual one if he liked, and the violet of her eyes were flecked with gold and turquoise hues he hadn’t noticed earlier. More than anything, Geralt wanted to be so badly consumed within her bubble, pulled in by her gravity. To inhale her sweet scent for the rest of his days. He wondered if she _tasted_ as good as she smelled.

Yennefer’s eyelids fluttered, her gaze falling more and more often to his mouth, pleading with him to _kiss_ her silently.

And Geralt _wanted_ to. Only, he was afraid that if he did, they wouldn’t stop, and he’d likely owe her for a new table.

She was the kind of woman he could get lost in. The one who would make him question everything he ever thought he knew about love and sex and intimacy. And likely make him consider _forever_.

“I should go…,” he mouthed against her lips, only an inch away from his own. Without his notice, she’d somehow reeled him in; hook, line, and sinker. Licking his lips, the knuckles of his free hand just grazed the smooth, silky skin of her bare knee.

The crotch of Geralt’s pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably _restricting_.

“Go out with me,” she stated urgently — or more like _demanded_. Not that Geralt minded; he’d always been deeply and inexplicably attracted to women like her.

Tough as nails, unafraid, and unapologetic. It was exceptionally sexy.

“As a rule, I don’t date women who live in the same building as me,” he admitted gruffly, but even as he said it, Geralt knew that it would be a lie.

“Then I guess one of us will just have to move out. And since I just moved _in_ …”

“Perfect, all your things are already in boxes,” he joked. “I can even help you so that you’re not blocking the stairs and hexing old women.”

Yennefer chuckled and her fingers crawled up his injured arm, much, _much_ past the bandages she’d applied. With a voice like silk or crushed velvet, she told him, “Or, neither of us moves out, and I’ll just send Jaskier to keep irritating you until you _do_ agree to a date with me.”

“No, _please_. Anything but that damned cat.” Geralt winced in exaggeration, but neither were thinking about the cat.

He could feel her warm breath on his parted lips when she said, “Looks like I’ve beaten you then, Geralt. A date, and you’ll never have to worry about witches or their familiars ever again.” And then she backed off, much to his disappointment.

Yennefer idly picked up the items from her table, as if nothing odd, or sexually charged, had transpired between them whatsoever. When she’d moved to go down the corridor of her apartment, she paused in the doorway to her kitchen, looked back over her shoulder, and coyly added, “Friday night, seven PM sharp, Geralt. And don’t be late. You’re too handsome to turn into a _toad_.”

From the floor by his food bowl, Jaskier meowed at him, as if in evidence of the supposed witch’s capabilities, and Geralt, wearing a bemused expression, wondered…

Had she sent the cat to him _on purpose_?

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
